


A Spring Day In Skyhold

by soren_berdichev



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Letters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 10:16:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14542527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soren_berdichev/pseuds/soren_berdichev
Summary: Inquisitor Lavellan remorsed the demise of her clan. Then came a visitor from Denerim, who brought her new hope.





	1. Chapter 1

Spring had come to Skyhold.

Below the window of the small audience room, every plant inside the garden burst into a renewal activity of life, hundreds of flowers bloomed in all kinds of vivid, rich colors, striving to outshine each other in their splendor. It’s the season of revitalization, a time for the world to wake from its long slumber.

Tara remembered the first time she visited the garden. Everything was brown and yellow there. They arrived in dead of winter, pursued by an implacable enemy and unrelenting weather, their hearts ruled by fear and desperation. The fortress was a refuge then, all efforts was brought into the organization of its defence, no one bothered to cast the garden a second glance. Only after victory in Adament Fortress and her personal triumph in Halamshiral dared she find time to give the garden some attention.

Then the nature took over.

Buoyed by Inquisition Army’s latest victory at Arbor Wilds, Skyhold’s inhabitants enjoyed the most splendid time of a year. The last winter’s gloom and despondency were all but brushed aside. People walked about in leisured paces, talking and laughing, daring to hope, to aspire for a bright future.

Not her clan. For them, there is no future but oblivion. A forgotten footnote in history, a small canoe, struggling for centuries in torrent of human prejudice and hatred, its survival never certain, its downfall practically foregone conclusion.

Its end almost a relief.

Except it was not. They met their doom because of their keeper’s decision. But eventually it’s because of her. Against Tara’s better judgement, she let her mother maintain the fantasy that a Dalish clan could be allowed to run a shemlen city. And could negotiate with other shemlen rulers as equals.

What pride had wrought. She heard people mocking Corypheus with that verse from Chant of Light. By all mean they could be mocking her, and it would be no less than she deserved. Everyone she once knew were slaughtered, by some shems who condemned her clan with words eerily similarly to those her colleagues used to denounce the “Elder One” and his lackeys. How ironic…and strangely, fitting.

Her mother was lost. Even her little brother, still only seven years old, was gone, too. And likely demonized to something as vile as those grotesque red templars.

The light scent of lavender oil and Maryden’s soft humming permeated the air. When there was no important visitor for her to meet, Tara preferred to use this room for meditation. Solas encouraged her, claimed this could help to ease her mind. In truth, she just wanted a private retreat, secure from prying eyes. Let them believe Herald of Andraste is indestructible. People didn’t need to know their supposed savior was as liable to remorse and bitterness as anyone else.

She heard the sound someone pushing the door. The minstrel’s song suddenly stopped. Tara opened her eyes, saw Sister Nightingale enter the room. She and Maryden both stood up. The red-haired spymistress walked in a brisk pace, her face beaming. No doubt her agents had scored another victory against Venatori or some pesky noble somewhere. Tara wondered if General Samson, now securely imprisoned in her dungeon, held the same smirk when he reported the demise of her clan to Old Cory.

Nightingale’s face betrayed a moment of bewilderment, as she saw Tara frown, but she quickly regained her composure. Smiling apologeticaly, she opened her mouth: “Inquisitor, sorry to break your meditation, but there is a courier from Denerim to see you. She brought good news.”

Tara gave a slight nod, and Nightingale clapped her hands twice. “Come in, Sparrow! The Inquisitor is waiting.”

Then entered another woman. This one was of a slim form, her body concealed in some old cotton cloak. The hood was down, exposing a profusion of chestnut hair, a pair of pointed ears audaciously announced her race to anyone who cared to know. But what caught Tara’s eyes was the crimson purple leather armor the visitor donned. It looked almost as supple as lambskin, but Tara knew its material even resists projectiles that could pierce steel plate. Drakeskin. So, not just any courier.

“Inquisitor, this is Amethyne Cousland, my little sparrow, in service of Her Majesty The Queen of Ferelden.” Nightingale introduced the visitor in an affectionate manner. Tara wondered how long these two had acquainted with each other. An elf called Cousland. Interesting. Had these humans adopted Dalish custom, or was she a house slave, just like Abelas to Mythal? But she wore no Vallaslin, and her proud posture told she was anything but a slave.

“Your Worship.” The elf curtsied graciously. More elegant than many Orlesian nobles could manage, in fact. Tara fought hard to suppress another frown.

“Andaran atish’an, Lady Cousland.” She meant to say “sister”, but the word morphed itself into something else before it could leave her mouth. At least it’s not “flat ears”.

If Sparrow noted the barb in Tara’s tone, she chose to ignore it. “Her Majesty returned to capital a month ago. She sent Your Worship her regards, and gratitude for helping our kingdom in difficult days.” She said in a pleasant intonation. Only then did Tara notice Sparrow was almost still a child, even younger than herself. And as pretty, too. Especially those big, turquoise eyes, in shape of almond. With a coy smile and a hint of tease, they could captivate any heart.

Why Tara hadn’t heard such a woman before? Was she Ferelden’s Briala? No, Briala was never meant to behave like a noble lady, at least not before Tara and Nightingale arranged her to be appointed as Marquis of Halamshiral. And certainly not as a “Valmont”. This Hero of Ferelden was an enigma to her. Now more than ever.

Nightingale gave a side glance to Maryden. The minstrel, ever a smart one, quickly caught the cue. With a courteous smile, she nodded to others and left the room without closing the door. After a while, Nightingale walked to the door, carefully closed it herself. Then she went to Tara’ side, held the Inquisitor’s hand and led her to a sofa. It seemed what Sparrow will say or show next was for Tara’s ears and eyes alone.

The brunette elven girl watched the event with an impassive face, never showing any sign what she may think of it. Only after the other two women sat down, did she produce a small packet from her pouch.

“The Queen wish to give you this as a token of her appreciation.” Sparrow handed over the packet to Tara. “The Keeper of a Dalish clan allied with us made these herbs. I have more in my baggage. It helps a _somniari_ like Your Worship sleep more easily. It also makes you more resistant to demonic possession while exploring The Fade. Your Worship, my queen worried for you, especially after the unfortunate event befell to Clan Lavellan.”

So, that’s that. Her vulnerability now became open secret, most likely thanks to Nightingale. Tara opened the packet with some curiosity, and was immediately greeted by a familiar fragrance, sweet scent mixed with a little sharp pungent edge. Her mother used to prepare such thing before entering The Fade. Some of its material are rare, however. Amid all confusion and fighting in those months since The Conclave, she didn’t have time to procure necessary material. Besides, she had never produced this herb once, previously it’s all her mother’s job. For some reason, Solas never considered to use herb to help him explore The Fade, and Tara was reluctant to admit her own weakness, let alone to seek his aid.

“That’s a very thoughtful gift from her, indeed. Ma Serannas.” Tara didn’t know if she sounded sincerely enough. On one hand, the human queen obviously cared for her welfare. On the other hand, that woman couldn’t be a dreamer herself, thus, she poked her nose into somewhere she didn’t belong. Besides, where had she been hiding when Tara was forced to play Herald, then Inquisitor? The Hero of Ferelden was the one Seeker Pentaghast and Sister Nightingale originally planned to declare as Inquisitor. Tara had learned from first-hand experience this job was not beneficial to one’s health. And Nightingale was rumored to be a very close friend of the queen, some anonymous voices said they once shared a bed. Add one fact with another, you couldn’t avoid to draw the bitter conclusion.

Sparrow watched the Inquisitor expectantly, her facial expression remained indecipherable， however. Well, Tara bet she wouldn’t expect THIS. “I am glad Her Majesty returned safely. That’s the good news you brought, I suppose? I have seen what terrible ordeal those poor Grey Wardens in Corypheus’ clutch suffered. He even had the gall to usurp their bodies in front of us, it’s not a pretty sight. And they helped him to murder The Divine, for that crime we drove them out of Orlais. There are reports some exiled wardens fled to Ferelden and found refuge in Vigil’s Keep. Are you sure they won’t stir further troubles? How long had your queen wandered off by her own? I hope she hadn’t been under undue influence.”

Those words didn’t exactly produce the expected indignation. For an instant, some emotion DID float across Sparrow’s face, but before Tara had time to distinguish whether it’s sorrow or regret, Nightingale gave a subtle cough, and the younger elf’s expression was reset to its initial calmness.

Tara shake her head mentally. One against two is hopeless. Better stop the game and see what comes next. Then she saw Sparrow brought out a paper pouch from another concealed pocket. The girl carefully drew a sheet from it. There was still something else in the pouch, but Tara couldn’t see it clearly.

The sheet was a letter. To her.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Tara could feel her heart’s pounding. She had been longing for this moment for weeks, months, yet she feared its coming, too. If Nightingale and Sparrow had conspired to upset her equilibrium, they were doing a fine job. Anyway, whatever her mother had to tell her was no longer secret to them, thus went any reason to pretend nonchalance further.

But as soon as her gaze fixed on the letter, her jaw almost dropped. The letter began with the familiar but unexpected Dalish greeting “Aneth ara, asa’ma’lin (sister)”.

Eolaselan? Could that be her little brother? but it was written with an elegant style, by a well-educated hand. Female hand, certainly not a child one. Tara looked up, puzzlement shows in her face.

Nightingale immediately put a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry, Inquisitor. Your brother narrated this letter. He was just unfamiliar with a quill. The Queen transcribed for him.”

So, he indeed survived! And back in Ferelden, under her ally’s protection. An overwhelming sense of euphoria engulfs her entire being. Praise Creators, Maker, or whatever, praise you for showing me some mercy, for once. She wanted to laugh, to scream, to announce her joy for the whole world to know, but instead, only a sob came up into her throat.

Then she felt tear flow across her cheek, uninvited yet unchecked, and she cried unabashedly. The room, the slender girl standing in front of her, the window and that patch of cloudless, azure sky inside it, everything in her vision blurred into a kaleidoscope of whirling colors. She lost any sense of direction, as if in a half-forgotten dream.

Tara didn’t care. Let Nightingale scheme, let Sparrow see how vulnerable she was. Let she report that back to her mistress. Her little brother, he is alive, and she could afford to show a moment of happiness.

Tara didn’t know how much time had passed before she remember the letter was still in her hand. She quickly stole a glance at Nightingale, then Sparrow, finding both women purposely looked at other direction. Breathing a sigh of relief, she wiped clean tears in her eyes, and continued to read:

_Finally, Tara, I have chance to write you a letter! Let me tell you, I just want to hold you so tightly! You don’t know how much I miss you in those terrible days, but I am glad you were not there, or they would murder you without a second thought._

_Sister, I heard what happened in that warden fortress and Winter Palace, I can’t believe you had to endure all those hardships, dealing with awful people and monsters. You were always so much braver than me, I am proud of you._

_Please pardon me, I don’t know what exactly happened to mother, I was not there. Poor mother, from what I heard from Lady Trevelyan, she tried one last time to negotiate with humans, to appeal them to stop their hands. They pretended to agree, then they attacked her and other elves with overwhelming numbers, including some templars. After that, they proceeded to murder everyone else. I and other children hid in a small warehouse, humans came to burn down the house, but Lady Trevelyan stopped them. We were imprisoned in the chantry cellar for some days, but in the end, they allowed us to sail back to Ferelden with Inquisition soldiers._

_I now lived in Denerim Palace. Others are sent to somewhere else. I am told if anyone asked, I would answer that I am an elven servant to attendant and accompany the crown prince. But I don’t have any work to do, and except for attending the same class with him, I don’t even see him. The Queen and The King are nice, but they are busy, I rarely see them, either. Only Amethyne came to play with me every day, but I heard she would leave soon. I feel lonely._

_Please be safe, sister. There are only two of us left now. I cannot afford to lose you, too. I look forward to meet you in near future._

In the end of letter there was no usual dalish greeting “Dareth Shiral”, but “Isa shathlen banal’ras dur” (Under his shadow wings) and her brother’s signature. These were written by a different, child hand.

With that verse there could be no doubt anymore. In fact, it belongs to a much longer song, dedicated to Dirthamen, Keeper of Secrets and Knowledge, known only by her family members. But Eolaselan was too young to be taught of that yet, perhaps these words were all her mother let him memorize, to identify himself to Tara.

“Who is this Lady Trevelyan?” Tara decided to ask Sparrow about her brother’s savior, but the young elf only winked mischievously. It’s Nightingale who answered her question: “Reyanna Trevelyan of Ostwick. She is the youngest daughter of Bann Trevelyan of that city. An associate of mine, currently serving us as a part-time agent. Their family has been House Cousland’s business partner, she is the queen’s friend, that’s how we knew each other. As every March city except for Kirkwall sent soldiers to attack Wycome, Ostwick also sent a token force, under command of her brother. I asked her to secretly provide any possible help to elves.”

Tara rolled her eyes, which didn’t escape Nightingale’s attention. “Please don’t blame her. Marchers need to show their solidarity, that’s why everyone need to send troops. The Chantry of Tantervale, with endorsement from Starkhaven, initiated this crusade and I am afraid their force alone was sufficient to overwhelm any resistance. Other smaller cities perhaps only sent soldiers to avoid suffering their wrath later. And it’s only because Ostwick contingent was an ‘allied force’ that Lady Trevelyan could help at all.”

Now it’s Sparrow’s turn to supplement: “She also arranged Master Eolaselan and other children’s release, after paying thirty sovereigns from her own purse. Your Worship, it was claimed your brother and others would be raised in the Chantry, to work there later, to ‘redeem’ your clan’s ‘crime’, but my bet is they were heading to Imperium. Reia thought it’s better to bail them out now than having to pay some Tevinter slaver later, for a much higher price.”

“Sparrow, you don’t have to tell that part!” Nightingale’s face visibly reddened, but the girl simply shrugged. “I am sorry, master, but Liz said Prince Vael and his Chantry’s glorious exploit, or their excellent business sense, shouldn’t remain obscure.”

To that Nightingale could only manage a rueful smile. “I suppose it’s unreasonable to ask Falcon to lose her edge. Anyway, Inquisitor, your brother is safe, as well as a dozen other children of your clan, that’s what matters.” With those words, she gently pulled Tara’s hand, bid her to stand.

Sparrow already held the same pouch in her hand again, this time she took a small object from it, which immediately magnetized Tara’s gaze. A signet ring, made of ironbark, inlaid with a small, flawless sapphire. It’s a lovely jewel, could command a fairly good price on antique market, but Tara knew its true value lay in the sigil on the gemstone. Two ravens, a bear, and a varterral.

The symbol of Dirthamen. Her god. For she was his High Priestess now. That’s her destiny, but Tara didn’t know if she still had the heart or drive, after what she had seen in his lost temple and that of Mythal.

She stood there, staring at the ring, as if in a trance. Without a word, she let Nightingale hold her left hand before her. Sparrow, now adopting a solemn face quite in contrast with her youthful features, deliberately placed the ring onto Tara’s middle finger. “That ring rightfully belongs to your clan. It belongs to you now, Keeper Sul’tarasylnin Deshanna Lavellan.” The younger elf announced in perfect Elvish.

Only with an effort could Tara utter a single word: “How…?” Upon hearing that, a smug look appeared on Sparrow’s face. “Stealing, of course. Those brigands stole your mother’s ring and staff after she fell. Prince Vael prepared to display them in his chantry as trophies. Reia stole it back. That arrogant fanatic fool, serve him right. I heard he had to do without the staff, too. Some anonymous templars borrowed it for ‘investigation’, but they disappeared soon after. No one knew them, everyone thought they are from another city.” She spread her hands in frustration, “Sorry, but I am afraid the staff was probably already on its way to Corypheus.”

Tara sighed. “The staff is not important. The ring is my heirloom. But what a keeper I am, without a clan.” She walked to the window, laughing bitterly. It’s only then she noticed clouds has been gathering in the sky.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, from her side came Sparrow’s voice. “Don’t give up, Lethallan. Your brother and a dozen other children still lived. Several dalish clans already promised let a few of their members join your clan. My queen and king pledged to help rebuild your clan by whatever means necessary. That’s the least we could do for you, after all you did for us.”

Tara turned around her head, nodded her gratitude to the other elf, a new surge of resolution rose in her heart. Right, none of others are preparing to write off Clan Lavellan, how could she be the first one to quit?

Clan Lavellan will rise again, in another day. But first, for the agonies it had suffered, Corypheus and those who willing served as his minions will pay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote those Elven names and elvish phrases in this story with help of FenxShiral's excellent "Project Elvhen" Series, a truly masterful work. Thanks a lot!
> 
> I set Clan Lavellan in my timeline as descendants of last High Priest of Dirthamen of Dalish Kingdom. The position of Keeper is thus hereditary. Keeper Deshanna is set as Inquisitor Lavellan's mother.
> 
> And poor Sebastian...well, I always suspect he is the propeller behind that mad crusade against Wycome.


End file.
